Death Becomes Him
by mamapranayama
Summary: AU retelling of 'All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 2': When Dean made his deal with the crossroads demon, he should have been more specific when he asked for Sam to come back; he should have asked for him to come back *alive*. Complete in three parts.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own, yadda yadda yadda.  
**

_A/N: Big, big thanks to lolaann1 who beta'd this and helped to turn this into something coherent. I also want to warn you all that there are some parts in this that are kinda icky as it talks about decomposition - I'm sorry ...  
_

**Death Becomes Him**

There was no rational thought process as he fled and he didn't know where to go; only that he was going to get there as fast as possible.

He mashed the accelerator to the floor and steered with reckless abandon down the dark and abandoned road, while pebbles flew up from the gravel road and carelessly pelted the well-polished exterior of the classic, black car.

But he was beyond caring about the car's paint job– it didn't matter – not anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.

The miles passed by in a blur as he tore across the countryside, putting more and more distance between him and the little shack where death held his little brother hostage, and where his thoughts remained firmly entrenched.

His one mission – the only one that mattered – the mission that had literally been placed in his arms at age four, wrapped in a blanket – to protect his little brother -to save him- and he had failed -completely, utterly, and spectacularly.

And now what was left?

Nothing … nothing at all.

_Sammy's gone …_

The seat beside of him was empty like a vacuum and it threatened to pull all of the air out of the car and his lungs – he needed to breathe, but he couldn't – there was no air – because there was no Sam …

Just gone …

There one moment … and then … he wasn't.

He choked, the weight in his chest crushing him into a fine powder.

_Sammy's gone …_

_No air …_

_Can't breathe …_

The faster he drove, the more he could feel everything slipping away and it wasn't until he suddenly slammed on the brakes to catch his breath that he realized where he was.

A short distance away, illuminated only by the twin beams of the car's headlights, was a crossroads where four roads stretched out in four different directions, and he suddenly knew that he wouldn't travel any of them.

He would go no further - this was where he was supposed to be and he knew what he needed to do.

Killing the engine, he left the lights on as he hurried to the trunk and popped it open. Thankfully, the trunk was always well stocked for any contingency and everything he needed was there. He gathered the supplies hastily, shoving all of it into a small, tin box before he ran to the center of the crossroads and fell to his knees, using his bare hands to dig a hole and bury the box.

When he was done, he sat back on his haunches and held his breath for several moments in anticipation.

The countryside surrounding him stilled and fell silent. The crickets stopped chirping and the wind died, leaving the air heavy and oppressive.

Taking a deep breath to help calm his jackhammering heart, he stood and waited, steeling himself for the confrontation and the negotiation to come, but deep down inside, he knew that whatever bargain was offered, he'd take it – if only it meant that he could undo his failure.

If only it would bring his brother back to him.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Sam's eyes flew open on their own, awakening his mind with a confused, addled jolt.

He sat up automatically, looking around, with eyes darting in all directions as he tried to piece together where he was. He didn't recognize the room he was in, but further inspection of his surroundings showed him that it appeared to be a run-down house or cabin, maybe. He wasn't sure what this place was exactly, but it was certainly not the last place he remembered being. In fact, he had to wrack his brain and dig deep to find his last memory, and when it finally came, he felt a shiver pass over him.

He remembered seeing Dean and the relief he felt as he and Bobby came into view after his fight with Jake, but after that all he could recall was pain – a deep, penetrating, searing pain followed by a shout from his brother. He remembered falling to his knees as a strange wash of numbness came over him and he couldn't feel the ground beneath them or hold himself upright, his limbs rendered as useful as wet noodles. The next moment, Dean was there, holding him up and he was saying something, but his voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel. He must have blacked out after that, because that was it – he couldn't recall anything else until he woke up in his new surroundings.

Sam looked down at his body. It appeared intact and he was still wearing the clothes he'd been wearing for the last couple of days. However, taking a closer look revealed that the mattress he sat upon was filthy, but more worryingly, it was stained a rusty brown over the exact spot where he had been lying. He must have been injured – that would explain the blood – but, shouldn't he feel some pain? Instead, he felt nothing.

Something was wrong – something was terribly wrong.

And that's when he realized that he didn't feel much of anything at all – he was kinda numb. He tested his hands and flexed them, bunching them up into tight fists. Though they moved as his brain instructed, he couldn't feel them as he normally should; it was like he had slept on them all night long and pinched his nerves.

He tried his legs next, easily swinging them over the edge of the bed, but again there was a weird lack of sensation in them – like he was disconnected from his body and he was just floating around.

Trying to shake off the strange feeling of disassociation, he stood up fully and noticed the mirror on the wall across from him. Taking a step, he ordered his feet to move him forward until he was standing right in front of it.

He almost fell backward at what he saw; his reflection both confusing and frightening at the same time. He didn't know what it was – the man in the mirror was him – just not in a way he had ever seen himself before.

He stared at his pale grey, mottled, and waxy skin, unable to suppress a mental shudder at his own reflection – damn … he looked awful.

Was he sick?

What the hell was wrong with him?

He shrugged off his jacket, determined to look himself over for injury or anything that might explain what he was seeing in the mirror. There was a hole in the back of his jacket and the blood soaked into it gave him proof that something must have happened to him, though he couldn't remember what. He examined the hole closer and to his eyes it looked uncannily similar to the damage that a knife would leave behind.

But … if he had been stabbed – shouldn't he feel pain?

He was at a loss – he needed more to go on.

He tossed the jacket onto the bed then turned his back to the mirror; turning his head as far it could go so he could get a good look. His white shirt was painted a brownish red in a small spot circling a slit in the fabric – it didn't look like too much blood and certainly not enough to kill him, he thought. There was enough of it dried into the fabric that if he had been injured, he should feel some pain, even if it was just a scratch.

Keeping his back to the mirror, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and started to lift it up. Dried blood made the fabric stick to his skin and he had to yank at it in order to release it and free it from the cloth, so he could raise it enough for him to see.

He was at a loss again as to just what it was that he was seeing – it was more than just a scratch – it was a deep, wide puncture; clearly a knife wound. Surrounding the wound, his skin was purple and bruised, but not inflamed like he would expect nor did the wound leak any blood, even though it wasn't stitched up or bandaged. The rest of his back was mottled with red and blue bruising as well, but that too gave him no pain.

Why didn't Dean or someone patch up the wound?

There were too many questions tossing about in his head for him to focus on just one. How did he get here? What happened? But more important of all: Where was Dean?

Dean wouldn't have left him here, injured and alone, would he?

Unless … something happened to Dean.

Was he hurt too? Or worse …?

Something akin to panic struck him … but not – not in the way he normally experienced fear – no … this was different and he couldn't quite pin it down until he realized that no matter how scared he was, his heart did not pound – it didn't feel like his chest might explode as it galloped in time to his racing thoughts, as it always did when he was this frightened.

There was nothing – nothing at all.

This did little to calm him. Though he was in the throes of one helluva panic attack in his head, he felt none of the physical symptoms that came with one – no sweaty palms, no tingling fingers and toes, no outbreak of sweat on his brow and no hyperventilation. In fact – he had to remind himself to breathe, yet he felt none of the accompanying dizziness he should have experienced – there was nothing.

Something was wrong.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Dean slammed on the brakes just before the car could ram into the door of the shack where he left his brother.

Excitement, anxiety, and fear mingled throughout his body and made him almost dizzy in anticipation. Even though he still had the taste of sulfur and death on his tongue from the kiss he gave the demon to seal his deal, he had to know if it worked and he had to see Sam up and around with his own eyes before he could allow himself to breathe again.

He rushed out of the car and towards the dwelling's only door. The demon had given him a year - one year to be with Sam and he wasn't going to waste a second of it.

Dean's hands shook as he pushed open the door and his heart froze in his chest as he looked in the direction of the room where Sam had laid dead for the last two days. It then leaped back into action the moment he saw all six feet and four inches of his little brother standing in front of a mirror with his shirt jacked up around his chest.

Standing meant not dead … Sammy's alive … and that's all that mattered to Dean and for just this moment alone, he knew that his soul had been a fair trade for it.

"Sammy?" Sam was already turning around before Dean had even uttered his name.

Relief, fear, surprise and confusion were evident all over his features as he pulled his shirt down and faced him, "Dean?"

Dean could have wept for joy if not for the fact that it might have freaked his little brother out, but he was just so damned happy to see him that answering all of the questions that were written on Sam's face would have to wait until Dean had gotten his fill of him. He quickly crossed the room and reached for his brother – his brother that had been dead only an hour ago – and wrapped his arms around him tight, never wanting to let him go. Sam was a little puzzled at first at Dean's reaction to seeing him, but hugged him back anyway with equal pressure.

He pulled away almost too soon for Dean, keeping his hands locked on Dean's arms so tight he was almost certain he would leave bruises. Sam locked his sight on Dean, his face pale and bloodless as he started to speak with fear and unrestrained panic clear in his voice.

"Dean … I …"

"It's okay, Sam … you're okay."

"No … no …" Sam shook his head then released his right hand from Dean's arm and laid it across his chest, hand over his heart , "I can't … something's not right."

Sam's anxiety transferred neatly over to Dean and he felt his heart flutter in response, "What, Sammy? What's wrong?"

"I'm scared, Dean … But my heart …" Sam swallowed hard, "I can't feel it."

"What?" Dean asked, confused by Sam's panic-ridden statement, "No. You're fine, okay? You wouldn't be standing here if your heart wasn't beating, it wouldn't make any sense."

"No, Dean –"Sam grabbed Dean's hand this time and pulled it to his chest, "Feel …"

Sam's fingers were cold against his as he pressed Dean's hand to his chest. Dean felt his insides shift as his stomach plunged to the floor and twisted into a knot – he didn't feel anything, just as Sam had tried to tell him, but his mind was having a hard time believing that it was even possible.

He lifted his hand from Sam's chest and placed his fingertips to his brother's neck, feeling for a pulse; he couldn't feel anything except Sam's frozen skin.

How could he be so cold?

Dean looked up into Sam's face, taking in his pale, grey features and blue tinted lips. A sinking realization forced its way into his head that he did not want to accept.

"No … this can't be happening." Dean muttered, "This is not happening."

Sam sank down and sat heavily on the bed behind him, "My God, Dean … am I dead?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"God … how did this happen?" Sam asked. The strangeness of feeling so much anxiety and fear coursing through him without any corresponding physical reaction was almost unbearable, "What happened to me?"

Dean turned his back on Sam and he knew just from his posture that his big brother was keeping something from him. Running a hand through his short, mussed-up hair, Dean sighed heavily, "What do you remember?"

"Uh … I dunno … I felt this pain – like white-hot, ya know? And then you were running at me … and that's it."

"Yeah … that kid … he stabbed you in the back. Who was he?

"His name's Jake, did you get him?" For a moment Sam almost forgot his present predicament as he thought of Jake and what he had done and who he might have run to afterwards.

Dean shook his head, "Nah … he ran off into the woods."

Sam closed his eyes, "He … he killed me, didn't he?"

Dean froze. Turning around, Dean's dark-shadowed eyes held a wounded expression that went beyond misery. Sam had his answer.

"Then how am I …?" Sam felt another pang of fear grip him, "What did you do?"

"Sam … "Dean shook his head, casting his gaze away from him guiltily.

"What was it?" Sam asked, anger starting to take over some of the fear, "Some kind of re-animation spell like that Angela chick or what? God … please don't tell me I'm a zombie like she was."

"No … dammit, Sam. You're not a zombie – it's not that …" Dean started to pace back and forth in front of Sam, "this wasn't supposed to happen. You were supposed to be –"

"What? Alive? Well, news flash, Dean … something didn't go as planned." Sam's fear and anger married and had babies, causing his voice to rise. Whatever Dean had done, it hadn't been good and was more than likely something involving some kind of black magic or evil, and that never worked out well for them, "My heart isn't fucking beating! So just tell me – WHAT DID YOU DO?!" he shouted, demanding an answer.

"I went to the crossroads, okay?" Dean yelled back.

If he had been in his normal state, Sam would have felt a chill course through him, instead it was a mental iceberg that slammed into him and left him scrabbling for purchase, "You what?" He could hardly believe it – Dean went to a demon for help? After all of the emotional turmoil Dean had been through when they found out Dad had made a deal for his life?

"You … "Sam tried to swallow, but his throat was dry, "You made a deal? You sold your soul for me? This means you're going to Hell, doesn't it?"

Dean didn't answer, he just looked away.

"God, Dean … what were you thinking?"

Dean looked at his feet, a clear sign that he was trying to corral his emotions, but even then, Sam could see the turmoil and grief on his brother's face and he felt his anger ebb a little.

"We'll find a way to get you out of the deal."

Dean looked up sharply, "No … there's no way out of the deal. I try anything hinky and you'll drop dead."

Sam snorted, almost hysterically, "I'm already dead."

"You know what I mean, Sam."

"We've got time though, right? We got ten years to figure this out – there's gotta be a way –" Sam stopped short as Dean had that look about him again – that look of guilt, "What … what is it? What aren't you telling me?"

Dean hesitated then sighed, "I don't get ten years, Sam … it's one year."

It was amazing to Sam how things had gone from bad, to worse, to oh-my-god-fucking-horrible in the space of just a few minutes, "One? … Jesus Christ, Dean!" Sam shook his head, his mind still reeling and having trouble processing the shit storm that had brewed over their heads.

"Why would you do that?" Sam continued to rant, "You shouldn't have done it."

"I did what I had to do!" Dean came back hotly, but beyond the surface, Sam clearly saw the pain and despair that lingered in his brother's eyes. Had their roles been reversed, he wasn't sure what he would have done – he may have done the exact same thing if Dean had died, but all the same – Dean was going to Hell and that was worse than waking up to find out he was a walking corpse. Much worse.

Dean suddenly turned again and began heading for the door like a man on a mission. Sam jumped up from the bed and chased him down before he could turn the doorknob, "Where are you going?"

"Back to the crossroads. I'm gonna fix this, Sammy. That bitch is gonna make you the way you're supposed to be."

"And how are you going to do that? You already sold your soul, you don't have anything left to bargain."

"I'll think of something."

"No! Don't be stupid, Dean."

"What? You want to stay like this forever?"

"Of course not, but we got bigger problems and having a heart-to-heart with the crossroads demon isn't one of them."

"Like what? What could possibly be more important than this?"

"Yellow Eyes. He was there – in Cold Oak …" Dean seemed to back down a little at the mention of the demon that killed their mother," Look … he came to me in a dream – he only wanted one of us to get out and now he's got Jake and who knows what he's planning next, but we gotta stop him. We don't have time to fix my … issue. Not yet."

"Frogs aren't raining from the sky, Sam. We got time to fix you first." Dean insisted.

Sam shook his head, "No we don't. I'm sorry, but this is more important. Bobby's place is only a couple of hours away and he can help us."

Dean glared at him, but Sam saw the shift in his eyes that showed he had given in to Sam's reasoning, "Fine …" He sighed, " We go to Bobby's – maybe he can figure out a way to turn you back into a real boy."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Dean was going to rip that demon bitch apart with his bare hands.

He had sold his soul so that Sam could live again, not be revived as a re-animated corpse, and when he got his hands on her, she was going to wish she could go back to Hell just to get away from him. Everything in him itched to go back to that crossroads, but Sam had been right – they had bigger fish to fry and the sooner they found Yellow Eyes and ended him, the sooner he could figure out how to fix his brother.

Dean didn't regret making the deal – not even a little, but in hindsight, he hated that he hadn't thought to be more specific when dealing with the crossroads demon. Instead of saying 'bring Sam back' he should have said, 'bring Sam back to life.' He should have known that nasty-assed skank would screw them over like this.

Even though Sam's heart didn't beat in his chest and he was starting to look like an extra from a Romero movie, Dean was still relieved to have Sam sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala with him again. It was a far from perfect situation, but Sam was there – he was walking and talking and that was far better than the alternative where Sam's body lay as an empty husk in that damn shack. And while Sam's body might still be dead, it was better than having him dead dead and Dean had to take what he could get.

Most of the drive to Bobby's was filled with silence, especially after Dean explained to Sam that the Roadhouse had burned to the ground and that Ash was dead and Ellen had most likely perished right along with him.

Every now and then, Dean would chance a glance over a Sam. His brother looked like death itself – grey skin, mottled and it had a shiny quality that he didn't want to think about. He knew Sam was uncomfortable with him looking at him, but he couldn't help but make sure he was still there – still with him. Eventually, Sam grew sick of the scrutiny and spoke up, "You think … uh … what if I start rotting?"

"God, Sam …" Dean groaned, not wanting to have that conversation.

"I'm serious … corpses decay, Dean. It's a fact. How are we going to explain this to Bobby when we show up?"

Dean shrugged, "He'll just have to accept it." As if Dean hadn't been thinking about that eventual confrontation already – Bobby was going to be pissed and he knew he was going to get the ass reaming of his life the moment they both showed up at his door.

"What if I start to smell?" Sam asked, making a grimace, "Or … ya know – bloat or something."

"Jesus … can we focus on one crisis at a time?" Dean shuddered at the thought, not willing his mind to even go in that direction, "If you smell, Bobby's got a whole cabinet full of Old Spice you can pour on, okay? And if you bloat, well … then you'll just be a little extra gassy – probably not much different than you already are after a bean burrito from Chipotle."

"Well … sorry … I've never been dead before," Sam shot back testily then dropped his voice as he looked at his drying hands, "I just don't know what to expect, ya know?"

"I don't exactly have a handbook for the recently deceased either, but you're going to be fine, okay? And we're gonna fix this – I promise."

That seemed to calm Sam a little, at least marginally, so Dean turned his attention back to the road and tried to pretend that Sam's questions hadn't shook him to his core.

_**More in Part 2**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

Bobby was asleep at his desk when he heard the knock at the door. Okay – passed out from too much whiskey and too much grief was probably the more accurate term, but he wasn't one to get all pissy over semantics – that had been Sam's job.

_God … Sam …_

The whiskey bottle next to his head was suddenly in his hand once again. He choked down a long, burning swallow past the lump in his throat as he tried not to bring up the image of Dean on his knees, holding his little brother's cooling body close to him on that wet night in Cold Oak.

Sam wasn't his son by blood and neither was Dean, but if watching one of your sons die felt anything close to the ache and despair he felt right now, then he couldn't imagine anyone actually surviving that. Now he understood a little better why John checked out early – he couldn't bear the thought of either of his kids dying before him.

Whoever was at the door knocked again, this time with a little more force and impatience. Bobby put down the bottle and grumbled to himself as he walked over to the door and pulled it open.

What greeted him nearly gave him a heart attack and in hindsight, Bobby should have prepared himself for this possibility.

Standing on his porch was Dean and just behind him, as if he could hide his towering height behind his big brother, was Sam, shifting nervously on his heels. Both boys wore contrite expressions on their faces as they each greeted him with a 'Hey, Bobby' as if it was every day that one of them died and came back – but then again – these boys were Winchesters …

Bobby eyed both kids carefully and willed himself to start breathing again. Dean wouldn't look Bobby in the eye while Sam looked much like he did the last time he saw him – and that had been while the boy had been lying dead. The Sam that was standing before him didn't appear to be much better, except that he was walking and talking.

Immediately, Bobby's mind got to going through the list of possibilities that could account for bringing Sam back from the dead: he could be a draugr, a golem, a lich, a revenant – anything. But, one look at Dean's guilty face and Bobby knew what had happened – he knew what Dean had done to make sure his brother was still by his side.

After he got over his initial shock, which was by no means and easy feat, Bobby led the boys inside to his library and explained what he had been working on. He asked Sam to look into some cattle mutilations and demonic omens in southern Wyoming while Bobby practically dragged Dean outside and started laying into him the second they were out of Sam's earshot.

Bobby figured out pretty quick how Sam was even up and around; Dean must have made a deal for Sam just like John had done for him. He whirled on the kid and demanded he tell him the truth, and when Dean confessed to what Bobby had suspected, he felt his stomach drop. When Bobby asked how long he had before his bill came due and Dean responded by saying he had only a year, the older man was livid.

Sam's dying had nearly torn Bobby to shreds, but he was pissed as Hell hearing that and had to restrain himself from knocking Dean's teeth in for being so stupid with his own life – and his afterlife. He understood why Dean did it – and he was pretty damned glad to see Sam himself, but he just wished Dean hadn't been so eager to give his soul away and not realize how much it was really worth, which was much, much more than just a frickin' year topside.

Bobby grabbed the lapels of Dean's jacket and pulled him in angrily, "I could throttle you!" He yelled into the kid's face.

"And what? Send me downstairs ahead of schedule? You can take a swing at me if you want, but I did what I had to, Bobby … he's m'brother," Dean's eyes glistened with unshed tears and his voice grew hoarse, "I couldn't let him die."

Bobby choked back tears of his own. Sam had been dead and gone and came back, but now Dean's head was on the chopping block – he wasn't sure his heart could take any more grief. He patted Dean's face just as a something fell and made a clanking noise behind the younger man. They both jumped and dove to hide behind a rusting Ford until a shadow passed by. Dean lunged and caught the intruder.

Turned out, it was Ellen seeking refuge from the burned out ruins of her roadhouse and that made two people Bobby had seen come back from the dead in one day.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Ellen had been lucky to make it out of the Roadhouse alive and she was clearly still very much shaken. She'd gone to get pretzels, she said, and had come back to see her place in flames. For the first time since they met her, Sam noted that she appeared to be glad that Jo had caught the hunting bug since she hadn't been anywhere close to the bar when it was destroyed.

She also brought with her a map that Ash had left for her in the safe she had kept in the basement of the roadhouse – a map of Wyoming with X's marked all around the area of the state Sam and Bobby had already been studying.

All of them set to work trying to figure out what the connection between Ash's cryptic map, but it was Wyoming – the area where Bobby had charted all of the demonic activity, so it had to mean something. They all got to work after that researching how it was all connected.

It didn't take long for the four of them to figure it all out and put the pieces together to form a coherent picture – the iron railway lines constructed by Samuel Colt, the cowboy cemetery in the middle of one hell of a giant pentagram, the demon activity surrounding it. The demons couldn't get into whatever it was the railway lines were protecting, but they wanted in – badly and dollars to donuts, the yellow-eyed demon was somehow apart of whatever was going to happen and they had to stop it.

It didn't take Sam long to realize that while the demons couldn't get across the iron lines, there was one person who could – Jake. If the demon had gotten to him and convinced Jake to help him – who knew what the kid could do and what he was capable of now. Sam had seen for himself how easily a person could be corrupted by the demon – he saw it in Max, in Andy's brother – and even Ava. He had an uneasy feeling creeping up and if his stomach had been working, he would have recognized it as butterflies. He too had come close to falling into Yellow-Eye's plan – he had his chance to bash Jake's brains out at Cold Oak and by God – he had been tempted to finish Jake off, but he had come to his senses in time and held out before he could swing the iron rod into Jake's head – not wanting to give the demon the satisfaction of playing right into his hands.

But now … Sam wasn't certain he had done the right thing. What if he had killed Jake? Jake wouldn't have stabbed him … he wouldn't have died … Dean wouldn't have sold his soul just to bring back a corpse. Anger was quickly overtaking the anxious feeling he'd been having since he woke up on that mattress. He had to find Jake – not only to stop him from aiding the demon that had destroyed his family, but to finish what he should have done in the first place.

Sam half-listened to the plans Bobby, Dean, and Ellen were making he made some plans himself. Jake was going to pay, of that he was certain.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Ellen dried the last dish and placed it in the cabinet over the sink before she dried her hands with the same towel then dropped it on the counter beside the sink. Bobby and Dean had retreated to the library after dinner – a dinner she noted Sam hadn't bothered to attend.

Before dinner, Bobby had taken her aside and explained Sam's 'situation' after he caught her staring at the young man and his unhealthy appearance. She had been worried at first that he was ill, but Bobby's account of Sam being killed and then brought back as a re-animated corpse by a deal Dean made with a demon was not something she had been expecting even believed at first. She'd seen her fair share of strange shit over the years – but this was unlike anything she had ever heard of before.

And to make it worse, it was happening to Sam – she really liked the kid. He was the kind of boy that just made her motherly instincts kick into overdrive and it was like she wanted to protect him the way should would Jo.

Ellen turned from the sink and from her vantage point in the kitchen, she could just make out a tiny bit of a tan sleeve through the screen door that led to the porch. Bobby and Dean were talking quietly in the library. The occasional clinking of glasses she could hear told her that there was some whiskey being downed. Damn … she could use a drink, but the figure on the porch was more important so she resisted the pull of the library and headed out the door. Sam stood, leaning on the porch rail, looking out at the junkyard. She was pretty sure that he wasn't really seeing anything in front of him, as he appeared to be lost in thought – so much so, that he didn't react to her presence until she was standing beside him, joining him in taking in the sights of broken and rusting automobiles. She caught a faint aroma coming from Sam, but she forced her mind to not label it as decay – she really didn't want to go there.

"S'not exactly the Grand Canyon, is it?" She asked, trying not to focus on his colorless skin or the way it was starting to look like it was stretching too tight over his bones.

"Huh?" Sam turned as if finally registering that she was beside of him.

"It's just there ain't really much out there to warrant such deep attention. So … what're ya thinking?"

"Nothing." He responded, quietly returning his gaze out to the yard.

"Must be a whole lot of nothing," She pointed out.

Sam sighed and bowed his head, "Why'd he do it?"

"Come again?" She asked.

"Why would he give up his soul for me?" He asked with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Because he loves you, Sam," she stated simply.

She saw his jaw work back and forth as he ground his teeth, "No … he was scared and just didn't want to be alone. And for what? Me? He didn't do this for me – he did it for himself. God …"

Ellen could feel the anger rippling off of the young man, but she knew he just needed to vent his frustrations out on someone.

"You think he did this because he's selfish, Sam?" Ellen came back, "From what I hear, Dean practically raised you himself, didn't he?"

Sam nodded reluctantly.

"I may not know what it's like to have a brother, but I do know what it is like to be a mother and to love someone so much that you'd gladly trade your life, even your soul for them. All I know is that I get why Dean did what he did and I can't say that I wouldn't do it myself if it had been Jo."

Sam shook his head, "Doesn't make it right."

"Maybe not, but that doesn't mean he was completely wrong either. You're here and that's a good thing, Sam." Ellen reached out and touched Sam's hand as it wrapped tight around the railing. He was cold to the touch and she had to resist the repulsion she could feel growing inside her stomach, knowing that she was touching a dead man's skin, "And I know this sounds trite, but what's done is done and all that you can do about it is look ahead at what you really need to focus on, like killing the demon and getting you back the way you should be."

"You mean, six feet under? Because really, Ellen … that's the way I should be."

Ellen felt Sam pull his hand away then watched him walk back into the house, the screen door slapping closed behind him.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

The four hunters left Bobby's place and headed for Wyoming not long after Sam spoke with Ellen, and they drove all through the long night without any stops.

Along the way, Sam was still angry and he just couldn't let it go. He was mad at Dean – the crossroads demon – Jake – Yellow eyes – he was so full of it that he was sure he might burst, but what he was most angry at was his own body as it continued to steadily break down.

Ellen and Bobby rode together in his truck for which Sam was glad, because he knew he was giving off an unpleasant odor as his flesh slowly changed from soft and pliable to something more closely related to beef jerky. While Dean didn't say anything about it, the open window was enough to let Sam know that it was a constant reminder of his current condition that his brother wasn't ready to handle yet.

And truth be told, Sam didn't want to deal with it yet either. All he could think about was getting to the cemetery and stopping whatever Yellow Eyes had planned, and if Jake was there … well … he wasn't sure yet what he would do. A part of him wanted him dead – wanted to kill him with his bare hands if he could, while another part of him remembered that Jake hadn't been all that different from him – he just hadn't been strong enough to resist the demon. Sam could easily have been the one to 'win' the death match the demon had arranged for his 'special children' and it scared him how close he had come to sliding down that slippery slope. And maybe that was what Sam was angry about – that deep down he might not be strong enough to resist the lure of evil he knew was in his blood.

Sam hadn't told Dean about the demon blood – about how Yellow Eyes had infected him by bleeding into his mouth as a baby. He wasn't ready to tell his brother that … not yet. Not when he wasn't even ready to accept that truth himself. Besides, he wasn't even sure if it mattered anymore. He was dead – his blood was dead. Maybe that meant that whatever power the demon had given him was also dead. He wasn't sure, but it was one glimmer of hope that he could cling to.

Sam hadn't really been paying much attention to anything as they drove and it wasn't until Dean said, "We're here," that he realized that it was time to switch off his internal monologue and focus on the mission. He climbed out of the car and followed Dean to the trunk. His joints, while they didn't pain him, were stiff and as he reached into the trunk and pulled out his handgun, he began to notice a haze around the edges of his vision. He didn't think too much of it until he caught Dean looking at him with unmasked concern.

"What?" Sam asked.

"You okay to do this?"

"Yeah – I'm okay, why?"

"It's just … uh … "Dean made a motion with his finger towards Sam's eyes, "Can you see okay?"

Sam frowned ... how did Dean know his vision was cloudy? His question was answered only a moment later as Dean slammed the lid of the trunk and Sam's reflection from the back window revealed a light, milky film had formed over his eyes.

_Crap on a stick …_

"I'll be fine. I can still see enough to shoot." Sam grumbled, hating the way his voice was also starting to deteriorate, as even his throat and voice box started to decay. He tried to put the thought that he might not be able to see or speak soon out of his head – he had to focus on the task at hand and worry about everything else later. His priority had to be on Jake and the yellow-eyed demon and all else, besides the safety of his brother and friends, didn't matter. He might not be able to die since he was already dead, but the people that meant the most to him in the whole world certainly could, and he couldn't let that happen – he needed to be sharp and force his crumbling body to hold out long enough for them all to come out of this intact.

"'Kay." Dean nodded reluctantly, "Let's do this already."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Dean, Sam, Bobby, and Ellen advanced together through the cemetery, weapons drawn as they approached the dark figure from behind.

It was almost miraculous that they made it just in time; a few minutes later and they may not have been able to stop whatever Jake was going to do. In his hand, Dean recognized the long, thin barrel of the Colt – the weapon that had disappeared the same day his father died.

Dean felt his heart rate rocket as Jake seemed to sense their presence and turned around. Immediately, Jake's eyes landed on Sam; surprise and disbelief etched into his face.

"You can't be here. You're dead. I killed you."

Sam kept his gun leveled on Jake and replied coolly, "Yeah well … turns out I'm only mostly dead – guess this means you won't be able to kill me a second time."

"How?"

"Does it matter?" Sam asked.

"I suppose not," Jake agreed then started to laugh.

Dean almost rolled his eyes at the over-the-top maniacal laughter, "What's so funny, bitch?"

Jake merely smiled wider, ignoring Dean's jibe. Dean's already tense muscles tightened even more as Jake turned his attention to Ellen, "Hey lady … put that gun to your head."

Something flashed in Jake's eyes and a moment after that, the gun in Ellen's hand began to shake as she raised it to her head, powerless to resist the power Jake had over her.

"See, Sam –" Jake explained, "that Ava chick was right. Once you give in to it, there are all sorts of Jedi mind tricks you can do. Now … everyone put your guns down or she's dead before you ever get to pull the trigger."

Bobby looked at Dean before he put his gun on the ground. Caught over a barrel, Dean didn't see that he had much choice than to do the same. Sam was last to put his weapon down and as soon as he did, Jake turned and ran for the mausoleum door, sliding the barrel of the colt into a keyhole made especially for it.

Everything seemed to happen all at once after that. To Dean's right, Sam dove for his gun while on his left, Bobby grabbed the gun in Ellen's hand and pulled it away, causing it to go off into the air. More shots followed; these ones from Sam's gun, as he fired over and over and over again into Jake's back.

Jake fell backward and landed in the grass. He looked up at Sam who held his gun at Jake's face and pleaded for his life.

Dean felt his insides grow cold watching his little brother's cataract-covered eyes narrow with anger and pure hatred as he fired his gun, discharging it into Jake's head until it ran out of bullets and there was nothing left of Jake's face but a bloody pile of grey matter and broken bones.

Standing with feet frozen to the ground, Dean stared at his brother in disbelief and realized for a moment that Sam looked nothing like the little brother he had given his soul to save, but it wasn't just his body that was different. That more than anything he had ever encountered before sent a tidal wave of fear through his body.

_My God, Sammy … what did I do to you?_

There was little time to ponder the coldness of Sam's act as the mechanism that held the Colt spun to a stop and an ominous sound of hinges unused for more than a century filled the air.

Dean rushed for the Colt and pulled it out of the door, but it was too late for him or the others to stop the gate from opening. Bobby shouted something about this being a gate to Hell just before he yelled for everyone to take cover.

The Doors exploded outward just as Dean and the others dove behind the nearest tombstones. The sounds of a thousand screams filled the air as Dean saw and felt hell itself unleashed upon the earth.

As soon as the initial shock-wave blew past, Ellen shouted, "We gotta close that gate!"

Sam and Bobby ran with Ellen for the doors and pushed with everything they had against the waves of souls and demons escaping from the portal.

Dean stood and meant to join them until he suddenly realized that he still held the Colt in his hand and as he checked the chamber, he found that it still contained one bullet.

He could still kill the demon – all he needed was one, clear shot. And if opening the gate to hell was Yellow-Eyes' big plan, then it only made sense that he'd probably show up at any time.

Just as he thought that and turned around, there he was – the demon of the hour, walking smugly towards him with a triumphant grin on his face. Dean's arm automatically raised and aimed the Colt, but before he could pull the trigger, the demon lifted his hand and the revolver was ripped from his fingers, flying through the air until the demon caught it smoothly in his own hand.

"Not today, Sport." The demon quipped just as Dean felt his feet leave the ground as he went flying backward. Dean's head made direct and painful contact with a tombstone before the rest of his body landed on the hard earth. Stars exploded in his vision and the world spun dizzyingly as chaos continued to erupt around him.

Dazed, Dean didn't see the demon approach until he was right up in his face. Dean fought to raise himself from the ground, but he was held fast against the tombstone he landed on by the power of the demon.

With a gloating and amused expression on his face, the demon crouched down beside Dean, his yellow eyes glowing condescendingly, "I gotta thank you … you see, demons can't resurrect someone unless a deal is made and now, thanks to you, Sammy's back in rotation. I knew you could do it."

Dean tried to move, but nothing would work. He couldn't even turn his head away from the sulfurous smell of the demon's breath hitting his face.

"Sure … Sammy will need a little repair work, what with his body still being dead and all, but that's an easy fix. All I need is his cooperation and he'll be as good as new. "

"Sam won't help you." Dean ground out through clenched teeth.

"No? You don't think so? You saw what he did back there to Jake, didn't you? Pretty cold, huh? He's a ticking time bomb, Dean and he has an evil inside of him that he'll be hard pressed to control … and you know it, you just don't want to admit it. Your dad knew – why else would he tell you to kill your own brother? What you saw tonight will be only the tip of the iceberg, especially after you die and his body continues to break down and decay. Soon his sight will go, his hearing, his voice – he'll be trapped in a body that's falling apart – unable to die because he's already dead – unable to end his own suffering - what other choice will he have but to accept the deal I'm going to offer him to bring his body back to life?"

"It's just a matter of time – I give him a few weeks tops before he comes crawling to me, and I owe it all to you – all because of your self-loathing need to sacrifice yourself for your family – all because you couldn't live without your precious Sammy. You of all people should know that what's dead should stay dead."

Yellow Eye's stood and backed up a foot, raising the Colt and aiming for Dean's chest. Dean forced his eyes to not squeeze shut in anticipation of the death that was soon to come, as he wasn't about to give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing his fear, even if it was all-consuming. Silently, he offered up an apology to his brother; he failed –he brought Sam back only for him to be practically served up to the demon on a platter and for this he welcomed the blow that was certain to kill him.

But the shot never came. A blur of movement suddenly came from behind the demon and he was thrown backward by an unseen force, dislodging the Colt from his fingers. Dean reacted without thought and dove for the gun, raising it just in time for the demon to make it back to his feet.

Dean fired without hesitation.

Yellow Eyes stood stunned for a moment, disbelief crossing his face in the brief instant before bolts of energy ripped through his body from the bullet hole in his heart. The demon fell, landing on his back, his chest still smoking from the killing shot as his eyes stared lifelessly up at the sky.

Dean struggled to come to his feet and saw Sam rushing over from the corner of his eyes, while at the same time, the figure that had grabbed the demon and allowed Dean the chance to fire the Colt rose from the ground and stole what little breath he still held in his lungs.

_Dad?_

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Sam couldn't believe what his fuzzy vision was showing him.

He had turned from trying to shut the gate with Ellen and Bobby as souls, demons, and who knew what else raced to escape from hell just in time to see Dean fire the colt at the yellow-eyed demon.

But the overwhelming surprise and shock of seeing the demon fall dead to the ground was dwarfed in comparison to seeing his father climb up from the ground and walk over to Dean and clasp him on the shoulder.

Sam abandoned Bobby and Ellen as they finished shutting the gate without him and walked on numb legs towards the scene playing out between the tombstones of the old boneyard.

His father's head turned as he approached, eyes bright with tears – a look of sorrow on his face as he took in Sam's deteriorating appearance and couldn't do anything for him. Sam only nodded, hoping he could convey all that he felt coursing through him to his father; that it was okay – that he and Dean would find a way to save each other – that he loved him – missed him – was sorry for all of the problems between them that they just couldn't work out before he died. All of that in the space of one nod.

His father nodded back his understanding and if Sam's tear ducts weren't dried up and useless, he knew he'd be crying.

Nothing was spoken between the three of them and in the next moment, his father was swallowed up in a bright light – then gone.

Dean looked over at Sam, his eyes brimming, but refusing to allow his tears to fall, instead he walked over to the body of the demon and bent down, "That's for our mom and dad, you Goddamned sonofabitch."

Little was said between the quartet as they unceremoniously burned the bodies of the demon's host and Jake together in a shallow ditch; all of them too lost in the enormity of what just happened to do much more than go through the motions.

Sam watched the fire consume Jake's mangled body and thought about how easy it had been to kill him. Without a heart beating in his chest or adrenalin flooding his body, he had put the bastard down like a dog and realized what he had become: a stone cold killer.

What was he? Was he even human anymore?

Sam let these thoughts play out over and over again in his head along with a million replays of Jake's demise by his own hand. That, on top of trying to understand how his father had managed to escape from Hell and help kill the demon, made conversation practically impossible. But, if anyone could have crawled their way out of hell – it would have been their dad, and knowing that he was free from the torments he must have endured down there made knowing that he would never see him again a little easier.

Dean also appeared to be lost in his own head and he was silent for the most part until they finally made their way back to the Impala and Bobby's truck.

The older hunter took off his cap and briefly rubbed his head before replacing it with a weary sigh. He turned to Ellen first "How 'bout you ride back to my place with me. You boys can follow and we'll have ourselves a little pow wow and figure out what needs to be done next."

Bobby received no arguments from anyone. Who knew how many demons got out while the devil's gate was open? The total number was almost too much to comprehend, but that wasn't the only problem they needed to face. All Sam could think about was how he was going to get Dean out of his deal and one look at his brother snatching worried glances at him every two seconds told him that Dean's thoughts were all on how to bring Sam's body back to normal.

Ellen and Bobby climbed into his truck and took off not long after that, leaving Sam and Dean standing near the rear of the car. Dean opened the trunk and tossed his weapons inside, giving the Colt an appreciative smirk before he placed it inside as well. Sam added his weapon to the arsenal as well and then suddenly felt the enormity of everything hit him.

"I can't believe it's over," He whispered, "Yellow Eyes is dead and Dad's out … it's all just so … feels kinda weird, ya know? But good."

Dean turned towards Sam, but his expression held none of the relief Sam felt.

"What?" Sam asked, "Aren't you happy about this?"

Dean looked down at his feet, "Yeah – I'm glad the bastard's dead, but …"

"But what? We spent our whole lives trying to kill the demon. He killed Mom, Jessica … Dad. I thought you'd be throwing a party over this."

"I dunno … the demon … he said he could have fixed you," Dean confessed, "What if … what if I just killed the only chance you had to be whole again?"

"There's got to be another way, Dean. And even if the demon could have fixed me, it wouldn't have come without a catch. So, let me guess …. He told you that he'd bring my body back to life so long as I lead his fucking demon army. No way … I'd rather rot in this body than do that. You know it."

"That's the thing, Sam …" Dean voiced with deep regret, "You're … God … look what I've done to you. I screwed us both."

"You didn't do this, Dean. Yeah – it was fucking stupid selling your soul for me, but we'll find a way to fix this and I'm gonna find a way to get you out of your deal. Okay?"

Dean nodded, but his face never let go of the guilt and sorrow written all over it.

_**More in Part 3**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

A week passed at Bobby's.

Ellen left to find Jo the day after they got back, with promises to keep an ear to the ground and an eye out for anything that might help with any of ther their many, many problems. Even though the burden of knowing that a whole army of demons had escaped from hell on their watch was bad enough and would have warranted immediate action, demons were the least of their problems in Dean's book.

All he cared about was saving Sam – the world could go ahead and screw itself for all he cared. If … no … when Sam was back to his old self, then he might find it in him to give a damn about hunting down and killing as many of those sons-of-bitches as he could before his expiration date came up at the end of his year. Until then though, his priority was clear and he wasn't about to give up on finding a solution, even if every sign pointed to only one terrible outcome.

Dean watched as each day Sam's body broke down more and more, and he grew more desperate than ever to find a solution. By the end of that week, Sam's skin had lost almost all of its elasticity and taken on a dark, wrinkled appearance while it clung tight to his thinning muscles. Sam's previous muscular build was wasting away.

While the bloat that usually comes with decomposition never happened as Sam had feared most, probably because he was still able to move around and release whatever gases might build up inside of him, most everything else he had been worried about started to happen. No matter how much he tried to wash – Sam gave off the distinct and powerful odor of death, and it got to be so bad that Sam took to staying outdoors almost all of the time.

The problem with his exposure to the outdoors, however, was trying to keep insects that were attracted to his decaying flesh from finding a new home on him. The only solution they had found to that was to douse him daily with liberal amounts of insect repellant and insecticide, which did little to help with his odor issues.

Those problems aside, the most distressing development of all had come only hours ago as Sam called out for Dean from his almost permanent perch on the front porch bench. Dean came hurriedly, hearing the panic rising in Sam's voice and when he made it to his little brother's side, he found his brother stumbling across the porch, his hands stretched out before him as his eyes - God, his eyes – stared out sightlessly, completely covered in a thick, white film. Sam was completely blind.

They knew it was coming – Sam's vision had grown hazier and hazier with each day, but the reality of it all had taken them both by surprise, and all Dean could do was guide Sam back to the bench and hold him as he sobbed without shedding any tears.

Guilt and helplessness held Dean firmly in a vice grip. Each night he went to the crossroads after Sam fell asleep and repeated the process of trying to summon the demon, but the bitch never showed. And Dean knew that she never would – he didn't have anything left that hell would want. His soul was already forfeit, but he had to do something … he couldn't just sit around and watch Sam slide further and further away.

Because it wasn't just Sam's body that was being destroyed, but his soul as well – the longer his body decayed the less of 'Sam' Dean saw. He was trapped in his own body and it was only a matter of time before it shattered his mind or drove him insane.

And Dean had been the one to heap this misery on his brother ,all because Dean had been unable to live with the thought of going on without Sam … of being alone.

He had been such a fool. The only thing he had given Sam was a future far more horrifying than his death ever could have been.

oOoOOoOOoOOo

Sam sat on the bench that had almost become a permanent extension of his body – a body that he couldn't kill and couldn't fix – a body that was becoming less of a body and more of a useless sack of bones with each passing minute.

And useless he was. As soon as he and Dean had made it back to Bobby's from the cemetery in Wyoming, they had both worked on finding solutions to each other's problems; Sam researching anything he could get his hands on about crossroads deals and Dean working through all of the lore on reanimation that Bobby had. But after a couple of days, Sam's vision had grown steadily worse to the point where he couldn't make out the words on the pages and his smell issue had become so embarrassing that he did his best to keep out of the house and away from everyone.

And now – he couldn't see at all. He knew that many people that went blind usually had their other senses to compensate, but in Sam's case, his other senses were fading slowly and steadily as well. The general numbness he had felt at the beginning had grown until he couldn't tell hot from cold, or even feel anything touching his necrotic skin. His hearing was skewed as well and though he could still hear, everything sounded like it was coming from far away. Even Dean's voice speaking directly into his ears was muffled and hard to understand.

Taste was right out. His tongue was dried out too much for it. Not that it mattered anyway – eating was kinda a moot point when he couldn't digest food and it would only rot in his silent stomach.

His decaying voice box and chronically parched throat had also made speaking an almost impossible task, and he gave up trying to make himself heard any longer. All he could manage was to work a pen or pencil, but even that was growing steadily pointless since he couldn't see and he could barely feel the pencil he was holding enough to know that he was writing anything legible.

Perhaps the once sense he was glad was fading was his sense of smell. The stench of death that hung over him had been overpowering at first – so pungent that he dare not venture inside the house and ruin Bobby's home with it. It was bad enough being outside and having to deal with it traveling up his own nose, but he really didn't want to do that to Bobby and Dean. Yet somehow, the two men still came and sat with him and talked despite his malodor. After a few days, the smell seemed to dissipate, but Sam wasn't certain how much was due to just his nose decaying out of his head, and how much was the actually smell of decay fading from his body.

His situation reminded him a lot of a book that he had been assigned to read in high school about a soldier in World War I that lost all of his limbs and had his face blown off so he could no longer speak, see, smell or hear, and when he finally found a way to communicate by beating his head against his pillow in Morse code, the only thing he said was 'kill me'. But unlike the character in that book, Sam couldn't even hope for death – he was already there – his soul stuck and unable to move on.

There was only his mind to remind him that he was still alive, but even then he wasn't really living; he just existed. He wasn't even aware of the passage of time as he could not see the sun rise or set, or even really feel the heat of it on his skin. All he knew was there were times when he slept and times when he was awake and the separation of the two was becoming harder to differentiate, making it hard for him to discern dream from reality.

The only thing that kept him from going utterly and completely insane was Dean. He could occupy his mind for hours on end with trying to find a solution to Dean's crossroads deal. Sam hadn't managed to make much headway into his research before his body completely betrayed him, but what he had learned had been a solid beginning and gave him much to think about.

He had half-formed plans, but none of them – especially the one where he went to the crossroads himself and offered his own soul in exchange for Dean's - had much chance of success. For one thing, being blind he couldn't drive, and second of all, asking Dean or Bobby to take him to a crossroads to attempt something like that was about as likely to happen as his brother becoming an airline pilot.

And that alone was the most frustrating thing about it all – being so helpless.

At least he could walk and move, but even that was pointless – where would he go? Sometimes it helped to walk back and forth on the porch, as the pacing would help ease those times when anxiety got the better of him and made his thoughts race out of control, but even that was becoming more difficult as his muscles shriveled away and the tendons connecting his bones shrunk and made his joints stiff.

So really – there was nothing else he could do, but sit there and pray that God might show some mercy on him and answer the message he tapped out with his fingers onto the wooden armrest of the bench.

_k-i-l-l-m-e_

_k-i-l-l-m-e_

_k-i-l-l-m-e_

OoOoOoOoOo

Bobby sighed, his heart heavy as he looked out the window and saw Dean take a seat next to his brother on the bench. Sam turned his head towards Dean, his white eyes staring out into nothing. Dean placed a hand over Sam's tapping fingers, his face filled with a dawning horror as he came to the same conclusion Bobby had earlier when he realized what Sam was tapping out in Morse code.

Had these boys not endured enough grief already? Did they have to go through all of this crap as well? Bobby knew there wasn't much that he wouldn't do for those two, but he wasn't sure what to do anymore. He had tried every contact, every possible lead, but no one had heard of anything like this before, much less had a solution for him.

He was at a dead end – pun intended, he thought bitterly.

Bobby watched Dean place his other hand on top of Sam's head and start to ruffle his hair, only to pull back a moment later in infinite sadness as his hand came away with several tufts that had come loose from the shrinking skin of his scalp.

Dean's shoulders slumped, but his other hand never left Sam's.

_Shit … I can't take much more of this._

Feeling his insides twist, Bobby closed his eyes, willing the lump in his throat to quit trying to turn him into a blubbering woman.

_So do something, you old bastard. Get off your ass and fix this … you know that there's one way to make that happen, but you're just too chicken shit to try. It's not like you were going to see the pearly gates of heaven anyway …_

Bobby opened his eyes and chanced another glance out the window. Sam's head was now on Dean's shoulder and though most of his face was turned from Bobby's view, it was clear that Dean was allowing his silent tears to fall freely down his face as he believed no one could see him.

That expression on Dean's face alone sealed the deal in Bobby's mind. He wasn't going to let those boys— his only family – be destroyed. Not if Bobby Singer had anything to say about it.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The twin headlights of Bobby's truck were the only illumination he had to work with, but it was sufficient for what he needed to do.

He worked quickly and set everything up as he had planned and buried the box that would summon his one chance to save his boys.

Huh … his boys.

How many times had he reminded himself that they weren't his kids – that he was more like a close uncle if anything, but the more he searched inside, the more right it felt to think of them as his own flesh and blood – his sons. Certainly he was no John Winchester and that man would always be their father, but John was gone now. The bonds that tied him to these two were stronger than anything he had felt before – even the love he had had for his wife hadn't felt anything like this. Was this what it felt like to be a parent? He didn't know – he had convinced himself long ago that he never wanted to be a father and he had been far too terrified that he'd end up like this own old man, so he had dismissed the notion.

But now?

He couldn't deny it any longer. Those two orphans were his as much as they had been John's and he could die a happy man now that he admitted to himself how much they meant to him.

Bobby didn't have to wait long before he felt a charge in the atmosphere around him that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He spun around and found himself standing several feet away from a smarmy-looking, dark-haired man in a black suit.

He hadn't been expecting a male demon. All of the crossroads demons he had heard of before had been women, but this one was clearly there to do business. Bobby squared his shoulders and prepared himself to negotiate.

"Bobby Singer." The demon began in a husky, British accent, "I've heard a lot about you."

"I guess you have me at a disadvantage then. Who are you? You're not your average, run-of-the-mill crossroads demon, are you?"

The demon smirked as he spread out his hands, "Guilty as charged. The name's Crowley and I'm what you might call a … regional manager of sorts. I gave the girl that usually works this area the night off so we could have a little chat. I assume you called because of the Winchesters, yes?"

"Sounds like you already know the score, so why don't we just skip the chit-chat and do this thing already."

"Impatient much?" Crowley huffed then rolled his eyes and threw up his hands, "Sure, why not? It'll save us both some bloody time. So I'll bottom-line it for you, Bobby. We both have something the other one wants, but just like any trade negotiation, we need to both agree to the terms before we seal the deal. So why don't you start us off and tell me what you want."

"I want Sam whole again – his body alive and mind intact, and I want Dean out of his contract."

"Oh, is that all?" Crowley asked sarcastically, "So what … no world peace, end of poverty, or cure for cancer to add to your altruistic demands?"

"That's all. No more, no less. I'm willing to pay whatever you charge."

"Yes, yes, yes … but no doubt you'll want to put this all on credit with payment of your soul due in ten years. Am I right?"

"Yes."

Crowley shook his head in an all-too-contrived affectation of sorrow, "Sorry, Bobby, but I only grant one wish at time and you only have one soul to trade, and even that one is a little on the … how shall I put it … on the scratched and dented side? One doesn't get to trade in a used Ford Pinto for a brand new Lamborghini, you know – it just wouldn't make good business sense. So here is my counter offer: I'll give you a choice – you can either have me fix Sam up good as new or you can buy back Dean's soul before I sell it to the highest bidder in hell. All of that for the low, low price of your immortal soul, which I'll expect payment of in five years – not ten … I think we both know you'd never make it that long anyway."

Bobby glared, "You can't be serious."

"I know … it's very Sophie's Choice of me, isn't it?" Crowley admitted flippantly, "But what can I say … I rather liked that movie. So, which will it be? Which one do you love more? Sam or Dean?"

Bobby gulped – this was one contingency he hadn't considered.

Balls …

On one hand, this Crowley guy was Sam's only chance at survival, but choosing him over Dean meant that Dean's deal would still be on and his trip to hell would come in a year's time. But if Bobby chose to free Dean from his deal, then Sam would forever live in his own kind of hell.

He was damned either way, but he needed to get the best out of the deal as he could. In a year's time Sam would most likely be destroyed not only in body, but in mind and if he chose to get Dean out of his deal over his brother, Dean would never forgive him. They'd still have a year to try and get Dean out of it somehow and with Sam whole and alive, the chances of that happening jumped exponentially, but there was no guarantee they could save him.

Fucking balls …

He needed to think fast and come up with a third option.

"I'm waiting, Bobby. I don't have all night." Crowley grumbled impatiently, checking his watch in annoyance.

Bobby snarled in response, still stumped over how to proceed. He just couldn't choose.

Crowley sighed dramatically, "Well … I guess you're not interested, so I'll just be on my way …"

The demon turned and began to walk away.

"Wait!" Bobby called out.

Stopping and turning around with a smirk, Crowley headed back towards Bobby, "Changed your mind then? Did you decide which boy to save?"

Bobby shook his head, "I can't …"

"Oh I know … the angst is almost overwhelming isn't it?"

"Go to Hell."

"Sure … As soon as you make up your bloody mind!" Crowley growled, but a moment later he threw up his hands in a gesture of mock defeat, "Fine … you know what? I'm tired … you're tired, so let's just stop wasting each other's time. Now … unless you have something of value other than your soul to trade, I suggest you make a choice in the next ten seconds or I'm gone."

"What do you mean something valuable other than a soul?" Bobby asked, hoping that the demon was about to suggest that he had something he'd be willing to trade.

Crowley pointed to Bobby's rusty pickup truck, "Well … It's certainly not that thing."

"Then what?"

"The Colt." Crowley finally admitted.

"The Colt?"

"What? I know you Yanks can barely speak English, but I think you know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

"Why would you want it?"

"Think about it," Crowley continued, speaking to Bobby as if he was an imbecile, "Hell is kind of a crazy place right now after good 'ol Yellow-Eyes bought the farm, and that left us all down there with a real vacuum in the powerbase. So, it's chaos basically, and it's every demon for himself. However, if a certain demon had the one weapon in the universe that can kill his competition … Well, he'd be one pretty powerful S.O.B., now wouldn't he?"

Bobby had locked the Colt down tight after Dean killed the yellow-eyed demon but he had taken it out of his safe and brought it along, just in case he should need it. Sure, it was out of its special, magic bullets and mostly useless to him and the boys, but he had taken it with him in the hope that if things got hairy he might be able to bluff his way out by pretending it still worked.

But this Crowley guy obviously wanted it badly whether it worked or not. Bobby didn't like the thought of that much power in the hands of any demon, let alone this one, but he had very few options left.

"If you knew I had it, why didn't you just offer a deal for it in the first place?"

"Where's the fun in that? I had to make you sweat a little, didn't I? After all, I wouldn't be much of a demon if I didn't do evil things every now and then – I've got a reputation to uphold. Now … before I can make any kind of deal, I need to see the gun."

Bobby sighed and pulled the colt out of the waistband of his jeans and held it up. He hadn't planned on it ever leaving their possession, but if it saved Sam and Dean ...

Recognition that the gun was indeed the coveted, demon killing Colt flitted across Crowley's face, followed by desire and want, "So … that's where you've been keeping it hidden?" He asked sarcastically, "I can see why no one could find it – that's not a place anyone would have wanted to search."

"You fix Sam and tear up Dean's contract, and you'll get the gun. Seems like a pretty fair trade to me."

"My God, you are thick, aren't you, Bobby? I told you already that I need something in exchange for each boy." Crowley came back, exasperated, "So, if you agree, I get both your soul and the gun. Deal?"

Bobby swallowed and thought of Sam's decaying body and Dean's soon-to-be-tortured soul. Losing Sam the first time had been hard enough, but losing both boys – one to the hell and the other to the torments of his mind was unbearable.

"Fine." Bobby muttered, "I'll do it."

"Finally," Crowley agreed, opening his mouth to spray a shot of breath freshener into it as he sauntered over to Bobby then grabbed him by the shoulders, "You got yourself a deal as soon as we sign the contract."

Two minutes and the nastiest kiss in the history of all kisses later, Bobby was minus one soul and one magical, demon killing revolver, but he had gained so much more.

He then went home to his boys.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Dean didn't realize he had fallen asleep on the bench outside until something that he could only describe to himself a 'weird' sensation ripped across his body like a brilliant flash of lightning, there and gone again just as fast. He woke with a jolt and looked about blearily, trying to regain his composure and bearings until he was fully alert again.

He wondered briefly about what it was that had driven from him such a deep sleep, but all of that quickly became unimportant as a new sensation registered in his fuzzy, sleepy mind - this one much more pleasant

Sam's head still lay on his shoulder, the weight of it heavier than he recalled before he fell asleep, but what really took all of Dean's attention was the warmth he could feel radiating from it and seeping through his shirt, warming him from the outside in.

_Warmth?_

Dean's hand shot up and went straight for Sam's forehead. The touch of smooth, warm, healthy, and very much alive skin met his fingertips, and he almost yelped in surprise and overwhelming joy.

"Sammy?"

Sam made a little sleepy, groaning noise in his throat then buried his nose in to Dean's chest, his eyes stubbornly refusing to open as he slept on his big brother and sighed contentedly while drawing in deep breaths that tickled the exposed skin of Dean's neck.

On any other normal day, Dean might have been a little uncomfortable with all of this snuggling, but right then he didn't give a damn and he laughed happily as he clenched Sam tight against him, feeling the regular thump, thump, thump of his heartbeat.

Sam stirred then, his eyes fluttering open then darting up to Dean's face with confusion at first, but it passed just as quickly as it came and his clear, hazel eyes, no longer blocked by cataracts, widened while a smile spread across his face in wondrous amazement.

"I can see … I see you." Sam said, then realizing he had spoken for the first time in days, his grin beamed even brighter until his dimples became so deep that Dean had to laugh himself.

Sam shot up and jumped to his feet, holding his hands out for his inspection and marveling at the revival of his flesh. He raised his hand up to his chest next then checked his pulse.

"Oh my God, Dean. I'm alive." Sam stammered, at a loss for words that could adequately describe his emotions, "And I don't stink … how did you …?""

Dean felt his smile drop a little, knowing that he wasn't the one that had brought about this transformation. "I didn't do this, Sam."

"Then who?"

"I dunno, but I have a feeling that he does," Dean stated, pointing to the truck pulling up the driveway and parking in front of the door.

Sam looked at Dean and his face went from elated to worried in a flash, "Bobby …?"

Dean quickly jumped up from the bench and joined Sam in a race down the porch steps to meet the older hunter as he climbed out of his vehicle.

Bobby took one look at Sam's healthy glow and his usually gruff face brightened. He clasped Sam on the shoulder, "Hey … looking good, kid."

Dean stepped up, feeling a little queasy about what Bobby must have done in order to bring Sam back to his old self, "Bobby …"

"I'll explain it all, okay?" Bobby replied, cutting Dean off before he could question him any further, "But first, let's get inside," he suggested, eying Sam, "All of us – no more sleeping outside for you."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

It was still very early in the morning and well before sunrise, yet Bobby appeared to be energized as he moved about the kitchen and started making a breakfast that would have put Paula Deen to shame. Bacon, eggs, and even a mess of pancakes were soon cooked up, and dished out between the three men gathered in the kitchen.

Sam watched Bobby prepare the food and felt his empty stomach give a rumble in anticipation – God … he couldn't remember the last time he ate and his newly restored body was begging for nourishment. His mouth watered, but he was thrilled at this new development – he was back – whole and apparently very, very hungry.

Dean was growing impatient, expecting some answers while Bobby refused to answer until the meal was served and they were all sitting at the table. Sam thought Dean might burst a blood vessel given how violently the vein in his forehead throbbed, but once he was handed a plate full of bacon and many his other favorite foods designed to skyrocket cholesterol, he calmed down a bit. Sam marveled at Bobby's way of soothing the savage beast. Now, if only Sam could learn how to cook …

Sam grinned and watched Dean enjoy his breakfast as he too dug into the plate of eggs and bacon and savored each flavorful bite in near ecstasy as they hit his newly reawakened taste buds.

Dean appeared appeased by the food, but once half of his plate was gone, his impatience at Bobby's lack of forthcoming answers drove him to start questioning again, "C'mon, Bobby. Spill …. How'd you do it?"

"Alright … here goes …"Bobby started, explaining his meeting with a demon named Crowley who agreed to restore Sam to his former, alive self and free Dean from his contract, all in exchange for the Colt.

Dean was furious at first. Losing the Colt again was a huge blow and with all of the demons that escaped from hell when the devil's gate was opened, it could have come in handy as they tried to track them down. But, Bobby reminded Dean that the Colt was out of bullets and Bobby didn't have a clue how to make new ones that would work.

"So that's it?" Dean asked, eyeing Bobby with a critical eye as if he didn't completely believe that Bobby was telling the whole truth. Sam felt that Bobby was holding back as well, but Dean beat him to the next question, "No deal for your soul? We're supposed to believe that this Crowley dude only wanted the Colt in exchange for both me and Sam?"

Bobby got up from the table, taking the empty plates with him to the sink, clearly avoiding the issue.

Sam felt his insides twist, "There was more, wasn't there, Bobby?"

Bobby kept his back to Sam and Dean as he started washing the dishes, but he refused to speak.

"Dammit, Bobby." Dean growled angrily, "You did it too, didn't you? You're such a hypocrite, you know that? You gave me the ass-chewing of my life when I made my deal then you go and turn around and do it yourself?"

Bobby dropped a plate into the sink with a loud clatter, spun and then pointed an angry finger at Dean, "Now you listen here, boy … Yeah … I sold my damned soul, but I at least I managed to buy myself a few more years than you did. And look at me … I'm a hunter well past his shelf-life and if I do by some miracle manage to survive another five years before my time is up, then I at least have some time to figure it all out. Crowley didn't say that welching out of the deal would hurt either one of you, so I count that as a win. And it's my soul … a soul that was probably hell bound anyway."

"Bobby –"Sam pleaded.

"No. Don't you guys get it? There wasn't any other way – if there had been, I would have done it. But I wanted to do this. You two are …" Bobby's voice shook with emotion that neither Sam nor Dean had ever heard from the older man before, and he swallowed hard before he could go on," … you two are worth it and you're the best chance we all have of saving the freaking planet from whatever hell has planned for the human race. So yeah … I felt it was a good deal – a better deal than I could have ever hoped for."

Sam and Dean exchanged brief looks, neither one of them able to find any words to counter Bobby's argument. Both of them knew how it felt to love someone so much that they'd gladly sacrifice everything for them, but neither of them had realized that Bobby had felt that way about them as well. It was humbling to say the least and Sam felt suddenly unworthy of it.

He had demon blood in him. Would Bobby have willingly given up his soul if he had known that about him – if he knew that Sam might one day turn? He'd already done some pretty scarily cold things and Jake's pleading face came immediately to his mind. Sam had given in to his anger when he killed him and it scared him how easily he had lost control. What if Bobby had sacrificed his soul for a monster that by all rights should be dead and gone?

Sam determined right then and there that he wasn't going to let Bobby down and he wasn't going to let the man he considered family go to hell. Screw destiny and whatever demonic influence might possibly be lurking within him. The yellow –eyed demon was dead and hopefully that meant that the demon blood he dripped into Sam's mouth as a baby was dead too. But more importantly, he wasn't going to go 'dark side' if he chose not to. He could still decide his own fate and he wasn't about to allow himself to go down that dark path.

He had a clear mission; save Bobby and kill as many demons and evil SOB's that got in his way.

Dean cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to reign in his feelings, "Okay …" He started with a husky crack in his voice, "So … we got five years to figure out how to keep you outta hell. I guess that gives us a little bit of time."

Bobby nodded, "Yeah … there'll be time to pull my ass from the fire later, but for now we still have a whole army of demons out there, and who knows what their endgame is. So …" Bobby leveled his gaze on Sam and Dean with determination and the smallest hint of a grin, "We got work to do."

Sam nodded in complete agreement. They certainly had a very long to-do list and none of it was going to be easy, but they'd get it done – they didn't have any other choice.

**The End**


End file.
